How Did I Get Here?
by allessandramari
Summary: Prequel Chapters to Getting Back On The Bus explaining the characters growth and thought processes. What happened to Rory overseas and how does Luke react? Why is Lorelai ok with Jess? Answers to these questions and more, as the Gilmores, Tristan, Luke, Lorelai, Jess and Rory all take turns center stage. Story 1 chronologically, written 2nd
1. Chapter 1:In The Middle

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter One: In The Middle

Lorelai set her coffee cup down on the counter, and narrowing her eyes, watched the love of her life stew. He hadn't shared yet, and it was making her nervous. Trying to remember the last time he acted this way, she caught her breath.

"Luke? Is Jess coming into town this weekend?" Lorelai asked, worried as Rory was supposed to be visiting. She'd finished her Obama Campaign tour, and was coming home while she waited to hear from the papers she had sent resumes.

"No, why would you ask?" Luke wiped down the counter.

"I don't know. Maybe because your shoulders couldn't get any tenser. Maybe because you haven't responded to any of my quips. Maybe because I know something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong. It's… I never know how much I'm supposed to say. Or do I even say anything?"

"What are you talking about? You did a flyby. Whoosh, over my head!" Lorelai replied.

"I'm talking about me. In the middle again. I'm always in middle between them! And when there's news, it's worse," Luke ranted.

"Luke, details, who?" Lorelai asked, glad she was getting more than a grunt in response.

"Rory! She'll slide in here, early to meet you, behind your back, and ask me. She'll ask me if there's anything new. If he's doing well," Luke said, throwing down his towel and adjusting his hat. "I never know how much to say, what she wants to hear. And he does the same thing when he visits. But at least with Jess, I know why he's doing it! He's not over her. With her, I don't know why. And I don't know how much to say."

"Okay, wait. First off, I'm sorry they put you in this situation. But Luke, that was a full on Gilmore worthy rant. I'm so proud of you. So Jess asks about her. I have to admit, I didn't suspect he would. She shared the Truncheon incident with me when she was in Philly with the campaign. She wanted to go see him, but couldn't bring herself to do it because of what happened, what she'd done." Lorelai stared into her coffee cup before continuing, "If I'm honest, I have to admit she asks for the same reason he does. Maybe I've been wrong all this time, avoiding the topic of Jess. I do know she shouldn't have to sneak around me to talk to you. What news were you going to tell her?"

"Jess's second book took off, so they're reissuing his first, and he finished writing his third. Plus, Truncheon is doing well," Luke replied.

"That's it? Nothing about another woman?" Lorelai asked.

"No, I always ask, and he says he doesn't have time."

"Let me tell her this time. She should be here soon. Then she'll know she doesn't have to go behind my back for the information."

"Sounds good to me," Luke said, relieved by Lorelai's attitude. He'd expected anger because it was about Jess, but received help instead. She always threw him for a loop. It's one of the reasons why he loved her, he thought as he pulled her head across the counter and leaned in to give her a deep longing kiss, trying to convey his love and appreciation with the touch of his lips.

"Wow," Lorelai said, as she caught her breath and opened her eyes. Luke pulled away and nodded, unable to speak, before refilling her coffee and getting back to work. He'd ask her to marry him tonight at dinner. Barring poison ivy or swan attacks, he'd ask her.

Opening the diner door, Rory rushed in, threw herself into her mother's arms, and gave her a huge hug.

"I got it! I got the job at the New York Times!" she yelled for the whole diner to hear. Lorelai hopped out of her chair and grabbing Rory, they jumped up and down, hugged again and squealed. Luke stood to the side, and eventually, moved in to hug her too.

"Congratulations Rory, I mean it, this is great," he said, looking at her, pride in his eyes.

"Thank you, Luke. Thank you so much for everything," Rory replied. Luke was her father, as far as she was concerned, he was her father. And she loved him, even if he never married her mom, she loved him.

"This is the best day ever, between Jess's news, and your news! Wow!" Lorelai said, breaking the moment. Rory turned to her mom, surprised.

"Jess's news?" she asked, wary.

"Yes, his second book is doing so well, they're republishing his first! And he'll have a third out soon. Plus, apparently Truncheon is profitable. And you! You're going to be working for the New York Times… Rory, it's huge. Luke! Tonight, Rory has to come with us to celebrate her new job! Specifics! Now!" Lorelai said, watching the expressions on Rory's face change with every word. She was right, and hopefully, doors between her and Rory were open again.

"Sure, yeah, definitely. It'll be a celebration," Luke said, thinking he wouldn't ask Lorelai tonight, it would be Rory's evening instead.

"Luke, that's huge. I can't wait to read Jess's new book. He's an incredible writer," Rory said, trying to reconcile this new side of her mom, giving up and deciding to think about it later. "Well, oddly enough, I owe the job to Mitchum Huntzberger."

"What?" Lorelai screeched.

"Weird right? So, I applied, and during the interview, the editor said 'truthfully, Miss Gilmore, although your writing is good enough, your experience is lacking. You wouldn't be sitting in front of me if Mitchum Huntzberger hadn't seen your app on my desk and told me to hire you. He said although he rarely makes mistakes, he did with you. So if you want it, the job is yours.' Mom, you could have knocked me over. I told him I needed to talk to Mitchum and find out why he said it, because if it was out of guilt, I didn't want any favors. He laughed and said 'Mitchum said you'd hesitate, and told me to tell you it has nothing to do with his son, and everything to do with your writing during the campaign, and your drive. He also said to tell you not to be an idiot.' So I took the job. It's world news. I'll be traveling and sharing a Times apartment with the others on the beat. All I need to do is pack my clothes, some books and stuff and move in. It's furnished and everything. I did call Mitchum, and left a message thanking him," Rory added, sipping her coffee.

"That's great honey, I'm so proud of you," Lorelai said, smiling. Her relationship with Luke was perfect, she knew he'd propose soon. Rory's dreams were coming true. Jess was even making something of himself. Everything was wonderful.


	2. Chapter 2: The Rory Gilmore Effect

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Two: The Rory Gilmore Effect

Hands tied behind her back, the fraying rope rough against her wrists, the smallest tug sent pain zinging across her skin. Stopping before the wounds became unbearable, and focusing on the dirty rag leaving a nasty oil taste in her mouth, Rory knew this was the end. She was going to die here, in a dilapidated shack, her knees aching from the bits of gravel forcing their way through her khakis. This was going to be it. The pain she endured in Darfur was of a different sort, less final. The government enforcers in Haiti after the hurricane didn't succeed in beating her to death. She got lucky on the Gaza strip, leaving the diplomatic headquarters minutes before the suicide bomber attacked. There were some dicey moments in Iran and North Korea, but none felt so close to taking her life as this scenario. Her investigation into the Mexican drug trade had taken a wrong turn. The source she was following had led her right to the cartel, but the interview went pear-shaped when her camera man opened his mouth. And although she was horrified by the threat, she too wanted to cut out his tongue. Stupid ass. Closing her eyes under the blindfold, she tried to regulate her breathing. Smooth, in and out, easy like, through her nose. Hyperventilating would only make her situation worse. Worse. Wow. Could it get any worse? She hadn't felt so defeated since she walked out of Truncheon almost four years ago. Falling to her knees to vomit in the gutter when she pulled her car over. Here she was, on her knees again, fighting back the vomit, knowing if she let it out she'd choke to death. Death. It was coming, maybe it'd be better to die by vomit than a bullet to the brain. She'd never see her mom. Or Luke, her Grandparents, father, friends or Jess. God, Jess. She'd been a fool for so long. Pushing her emotions deep inside. Taking the easy way out. Hiding from the fire, electricity, the rampant all consuming connection which swelled between them whenever they were near each other. Confronted with death, her thoughts went to him, and what she had lost. Always. Every damn time, her thoughts focused on him. She hated herself for her inaction. She could have seen him when the Obama campaign went through Philly, but she was too scared he hadn't forgiven her. No, not true. She was too scared he had moved on. So she called her mom, knowing she'd convince her not to go. She cursed her own stubbornness, and her pride. Her pride, she could use a bit of it now. Was that a thud? Were the cartel's enforcers returning? Was this it? She wasn't going to scream. She wasn't going to beg. She wasn't going to accept being subjugated. She'd die with dignity, dammit. Straightening her back and shoulders, she began to work the dirty rag out of her mouth with her tongue. Forcing the ball of material past the scarf holding it in place. Thank God they didn't use duct tape. Maybe she could talk to them, strike a deal. Keening next to her caught her attention. The camera man hadn't stopped crying since they were tossed onto the floor and told to kneel.

"Shut the fuck up, Roger," she said, muffled, but he must have understood, because he stopped moaning. Of course, the warmth she felt seeping into her pant leg proved his cowardice continued. "Shit," she said as she scooted away from the growing puddle. Freezing at the sound of a chuckle, she turned her head toward the whisper of steps headed her direction.

"Well, Mary. Bet you never expected to see me again, let alone here," Tristan Dugray said, as he tugged her blindfold down.

"What? How?" Rory asked as she clenched and stretched her fingers after he removed the ropes tying her hands, trying to work feeling into them.

"Military school led to a career. We were working the same angle. You're too good at your job, Mary. Heard about the snatch and grab, and here I am, saving your pretty asses. Well, yours anyway. Can't say I care much for your camera man. But I guess if I have to save you, I might as well throw him in too. This evens the score between us. Slate is clean."

"What did you ever owe me for?"

"You made me want to be better. The Rory Gilmore effect. I saw Paris last Christmas, she said it's a common phenomena. Come on. Let's get you out of the country."

"No way. Not yet, not till I have what I need," Rory said, arms crossed in front of her, feeling as if she needed to try to save face and make a stand. Wanting nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, and let him take care of her, and since she didn't know this man in front of her, it didn't seem like a good idea. She could tell he wasn't the same boy from Chilton.

"Not gonna happen. You've stepped in it this time. Too many governments are involved here. The only story you'll be able to file is your own. Intrepid young reporter, kidnapped by cartel," Tristan said, frowning her direction as he moved to Roger.

"You're right. What the hell am I even thinking? Get me out of here," Rory watched Tristan untie her camera man. "Can he ride in a separate car? I might kill him otherwise, and do you have a phone? I need to call my mom."


	3. Chapter 3: A Stars Hollow Reaction

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Three: A Stars Hollow Reaction

Home for Doula's birthday, Jess was wiping down a table after the morning rush when Lorelai stumbled through the door.

"Luke? Oh my God, Luke?" Lorelai moaned out in a shaky breath as she searched the diner. Spotting Jess, she covered her mouth with her hands and began to shake. She was in shock, and all he could think was, something had happened to Rory. Dropping his towel, he grabbed her shoulders and tried to get her attention.

"Lorelai! What is it? Is she okay? Tell me!" She looked at him, at the terror in his eyes, and hers' filled with tears. She let herself fall into a chair. It was so obvious. How could she have missed it before? Not missed it, underestimated it. He cared. They hadn't been together in years, but it was clear. She felt the uncommon urge to soothe him. Strange to feel it for Jess. She had trained herself to dislike even the idea of him and Rory. His intensity scared her, and woke her up from her terror.

"It's Rory, she's okay, but she was taken. By a drug cartel in Mexico she was doing a story on. There was a rescue mission. She wanted me to know before it came out in the paper. Apparently, we'll be able to read all about it," she let out a harsh laugh before continuing. "She could only talk for a second. They were getting her out of Mexico, but they didn't fly her to the States. She's not coming home. She's headed to Afghanistan," Lorelai said, gripping the salt shaker on the table. Wishing it was a cup of coffee to warm her hands on.

Jess looked down at her for a minute before clearing his throat and spinning on his heel to head up to the apartment. Turning back for a second he met Lorelai's eyes.

"Afghanistan? I'll get Luke for you," he said, before pulling back the curtain.

"Jess? Are you going to be okay?" Lorelai asked. Jess let out a dry laugh.

"Are you?" he replied before walking up the steps.

Jess wanted to leave. Running from Stars Hollow would never be easier. One, he'd be running home. Home was Philadelphia, Truncheon, his friends and life. Two, Rory wasn't here. He wouldn't be hurting her this time. He'd be running from the memory of her. Throwing himself onto the bed, after sending Luke down to Lorelai, Jess covered his face with his arm and tried to find some calm. She'd been taken. What did "taken" mean? Rescue mission… Jesus. She's okay. In good enough shape she isn't even coming home. Doesn't need time off. Doesn't need to see her mom. Of course, she didn't come home after Darfur, or being beaten in Haiti. He wrote a book after seeing the picture of her bruised and battered face on the news. His partners at Truncheon had convinced him it was a better choice to write his anger out than fly to Haiti to find the government officials who had disliked the idea of her reporting on their siphoning of relief funds. Now she was headed to Afghanistan. Shit. Yeah, heading back to Philly would be easy, but it wouldn't stop the thoughts. And Doula would be upset. She'd be four in two days. He could handle the onslaught of memories for Doula. He only saw her a couple of times a year, but as she got older, he enjoyed spending time with her and was showing up for family events with increasing frequency.

"Jess, could you come down? I need to get Lorelai home. We're not going out to dinner now, but I don't want to leave her alone tonight," Luke said from the door.

"Yeah. I wouldn't recommend asking her to marry you tonight. She's pretty shook up," Jess replied, standing and running his hand through his hair.

"You okay? I know it's hard for you to even be in Stars Hollow."

"I'm fine. I'm always fine," Jess shrugged his shoulders and headed past Luke and down the steps.


	4. Chapter 4: With Bated Breath

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Four: With Bated Breath

Emily only allowed him one finger of scotch a night, and he drank it sitting next to her on the couch as they wound down from the day. Not tonight. Tonight Emily had answered a call from Lorelai and was now upstairs drowning her sorrows while watching old ballroom dance competitions. She had carried a bottle of wine up the steps with her, and Richard knew she'd be hung over tomorrow. He didn't have the luxury of drinking Lorelai's news away. No. He couldn't escape the fear, so instead, he decided to embrace it.

Sitting at his desk, he opened a binder of Rory's articles. Emily had started the binders when Rory was a child, collecting her writings. This one was devoted to her reporting for the New York Times. Rory was living her dream. She had succeeded beyond Richards expectations. To be truthful, he didn't think she would continue after her first experience. Rory loved "home" and he was surprised she could stay away for so long. Surprised she thrived. Terrified she wouldn't survive. Paging through the binder, Richard re-read her stories starting with the months she spent in the Sudan. Her last article filed from there made his heart beat faster, and he took deep calming breaths as he read.

_I'm ashamed to admit, as a reporter, I'm finding it difficult to report impartially in regards to the violence in Darfur. Specifically, the violence against the women and young girls who have not fled their homes. It takes courage to remain in an untenable situation, and for them to be raped as they try to take care of their families disgusts me. Compounding my issue is how often I'm forced into becoming part of this story. I'm young, and I've been told I have an innocent beauty. Apparently, the combination is an enticement for the thugs who roam the streets preying on the inhabitants who remain. To leave the news compound to do my job, I have an armed escort. The number of my guards has increased weekly. I am now up to five. Five men who are talking about adding another. Last night I was pulled into a dark alley at gun point. Again. Yes, they were trying to rape me. Again. Yes, my guards saved me. But at what cost? Shouldn't I feel bad for the lives lost, attackers or not? What drives these men to commit these atrocities? To take such an obvious chance? Five armed guards…Were the thugs hoping to die?_

_Normal women in Darfur do not have an armed guard when they gather firewood, go to work, or scavenge for food. Rape is a daily occurrence here. I can't be impartial about it anymore. Write to your congressman. Write to the U.N., something must be done in Darfur._

The question he always asked himself as he read this piece was- the first attack, was she saved in time? Reading deep into the night, Richard closed the binder with a sigh. Soon there would be a new story to add. Would he survive her tale of Cartel capture? Would he be able to handle her sojourn in Afghanistan? Would he be strong enough to get Emily through it?

Whenever he thought of her current life, and how it made him feel, a quote from the author J. Mariano came to mind. His book seller had recommended the author to him. He was a young writer, but quite accomplished. Richard was enjoying seeing his skill grow with every book. The quote was in his newest book. It was written about a young woman who pursued a career as a DEA agent, from the point of view of the man who loved her in silence.

_For those of us riding in the wake of the danger which stalks her, we exist in half alive states of batedness. Our breath, our hearts, our souls are anxious. Awaiting news she was coming home, awaiting news this time she was never returning. Awaiting. Anxious. Bated._


	5. Chapter 5:It's Time

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Five: It's Time

The convoy was stopped. The sign was given, no-one made a sound, and for the umpteenth time in the last year, Rory wondered what the hell she was doing and why. To begin with, the thrill and the adrenaline got her through. Along with the importance of the stories. It wasn't cutting it anymore. Hadn't been since Mexico.

Times like these forced you to think about what really mattered._ Her mom, brave, willful unique, on occasion judgmental, supportive. Her Grandparents, always there for her whether right or wrong. Christopher, the father she wished she knew. Her sister. Her friends. Luke, the father she always wanted. Jess. _

Regrets. _There were a few. The way things ended with Jess._ _Her relationship with her father could be better. Hell, she didn't even know her sister Gigi. _Yeah. She had regrets.

And if she died tonight in this convoy? Well, now that would suck. She should have taken her boss up on the desk job two months ago. _"The places you've been in? What you've seen? The shit down in Mexico? Everyone takes a break, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You've lasted months longer than most."_

But she knew. She knew if she stopped, she'd never go back to the hotspots, and this had been her dream for so long. But she'd done it. She'd done everything she set out to do. A job at the New York Times. Overseas correspondent. She could move on to something new and no one would think any less of her. Hell, they'd throw her a party for coming home. She could get on with her life. Have a life. A change in the air, and the truck began to move. Looking around her at the Marines, she wondered if they could see it in her face, see she was done. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and let out a deep sigh.

"You okay there Gilmore?" Staff Sergeant Grove asked.

"This place, more than the rest, gets to me I guess," she replied.

"Where have you been?" he asked. This tiny blue eyed woman made him feel gentle. Paternal. She didn't seem the war correspondent type, but she had inner strength. He'd seen it several times in the last week. What should have been a routine, show the nice reporter a safe forward operating base, had turned into a fucked up under fire shit storm. Luckily, she could follow instructions without asking why, and keep her head down. She was the epitome of grace under fire. She made him feel damn poetic.

"Darfur, Iraq, Iran, Haiti, the Gaza Strip, North Korea, Mexico, and now Afghanistan. I've been gone two years. There's more downtime here, too much time to think," she replied.

"Shit. Two years on the road?" a young Marine blurted out. Grove nodded.

"You've been deployed too long, Gilmore. You should think about going home."

"Yeah, that's what the sigh was for. When we get back to Leatherneck, I'm calling in, it's time," Rory said, shutting her eyes as the sign was given and silence reigned again.


	6. Chapter 6: Welcome Home

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

**Warning! Danger Will Robinson. This is a dark chapter with a bit of violent imagery and content. Although I wouldn't consider it graphic. I'm not one to get all spoilerish, especially about my own writing, but I know for some even the tiniest bit of this might be too much. In other words- we flashback to Darfur. It takes place after 2:00 am, in italics, if you need to skim ahead. But I wanted the Luke/Rory interaction and I feel it's necessary to the story. **

Chapter Six: Welcome Home

Her bedroom was the same, but she wasn't. Running her fingers across the spines of her books, she thought about coming home. What it meant. What they wanted to hear. What no-one was saying. What she read in their eyes. What they could see in hers. What did they see which made them cringe, walk away, and cluster together in small intimate groupings? She was craving acceptance, and instead received wariness. Or maybe she was projecting, being paranoid, out of place. Feeling trapped in the small room, she opened the window, and laughing quietly to herself at the idea, escaped into the night. Using skills honed on the streets of Jerusalem and the mountains of Afghanistan, she was silent as she moved through the shadows away from the bright lights and noise of her welcome home party. Skirting the townspeople hanging out in her yard. Would they notice she was gone? Yes. Realistically, she knew they would. Her mom would look for her. Probably cover for her. Her Grandma would consider it rude. Putting her hands in her pockets, she wandered through the town, enjoying the quiet, before approaching the bridge.

Jess wasn't there. She half expected him to be. Liz didn't know she wasn't supposed to talk about Jess as per Lorelai's unspoken rules, and had mentioned bringing up the party to him. So he knew, and in her dreams he was waiting for her. But this was reality and he wasn't sitting on the bridge, and she couldn't bring herself to walk across it and sit there either. Switching direction, she headed into town and using the key above the door, snuck into the closed diner. Hesitating at the steps, she turned away from the apartment and found herself a corner in the dark. Sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, she eyed the tables with their stacked chairs, comforting ghosts in the moonlight. Holding her head in her hands, she focused on finding some peace.

"_Gilmore, you know there's a real possibility of you having reintegration issues when you get stateside, right? You could face the problems they warn us about. I've been reading your articles. You could have PTSD," Staff Sergeant Grove said, pulling her aside before letting her board the plane._

"_I've read up on it. I'll talk to someone when I get home," Rory promised. He looked at her, and narrowing his eyes, shook his head._

"_I think you're lying to me, Gilmore, and since you're not a Marine, there ain't a damn thing I can do about it. You have to take this seriously. You may not have fired a gun, but you saw more action this week than some of these guys will see their entire deployment. Remember, get help when you're clawing the walls. You might lose it. You might end up in a half asleep, half awake state, and lose it. The people around you won't be prepared for it. They'll think you're awake. You could hurt yourself or someone else."_

Isolating yourself, disassociation, lack of energy or interest, mood changes, jumpiness, less talkative, substance abuse, everyone getting on your nerves, and having trouble focusing. Some of those symptoms applied, of course some of them had always applied. _Enter the Chilton Puffs._ Nightmares, flashbacks, insomnia. Those applied and were new. Well, not new. New since Darfur.

Curling herself into a ball on the floor of the diner, she wished she could purge events from her brain. Wipe them away. She was so tired, and she felt safe here, comforted by the familiar smells. The faint scent of coffee and burgers.

She heard the door open and close, the click of the lock, and watched half awake as Luke crossed the diner and went upstairs. Toying with the idea of heading home, she fell back asleep before she could motivate herself to sit up.

_2:00 am_

He was awake and had fallen out of bed before the scream faded. Rushing down the steps to the sound of whimpering, Luke turned on the light and stopped in shock.

"Rory? Rory? What are you doing here?" he asked, as he moved to her. Why was she here in the corner on the floor? "Rory, Rory, wake up."

_Her interpreter's blood pooled under his body, spreading through the cracks in the road, seeping her direction. His vacant eyes gave mute witness to the man forcing himself on her. As the blood moved small stones on its march toward her hair, she fought, scratching, gouging, biting. Throwing her body from side to side, twisting away from him, keeping him from his goal. Kicking out. Her shirt ripped away, he was too strong. If she could hold out, just for a minute longer, help would come. Drawn by her screams. Please, God, let help come. The blood was warm under her head as gravity moved it onward._

"No! Stop! Don't, don't touch me! Please!" she begged, sobbing, fighting against an invisible assailant. Luke backed away, forcing himself not to pull her into his arms. He sat down next to her on the floor. Touching his head, attempting to adjust the invisible hat, before beginning to speak.

"Rory, wake up Rory. You're dreaming. You're safe. It's me, Luke. You're in my diner, and you're safe. It's me, Rory. It's Luke, we've known each other all your life. You're like a daughter to me, I, I care about you. I give you coffee and pancakes," he rambled non-stop, not letting up for what felt like hours, although it was only minutes. She began to calm, her talking and crying tapered off, her breathing evened out.

"Rory, it's time to wake up now," he said, nudging her shoe when it seemed safe. She stirred, and opened her eyes, looking around.

"Luke?"

"Yeah, it's me, you're safe Rory. I'm here."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked, sitting against the wall, wiping her face. Hugging herself. Trying to shake off the fear.

"No, you were having a nightmare, and I was careful not, not to touch you. Rory, you need to talk to somebody about what you went through. Maybe not your mom. Probably not your mom. But you need to talk to someone to help you get through this." Tears streaked her face as she glanced at the man next to her. He was looking down at his clenched hands. Rory touched his white knuckles.

"I was dreaming about Darfur. I'm guessing you figured out my secret. I don't want my mom to know. She can't know. It's bad enough she knows about the beating in Haiti, and the cartel. She doesn't need to know about Darfur. I can't sleep there, Luke. If I had a nightmare, she'd hear. And there's other stuff. Not worse, but she doesn't need to know. I can't even be in my old room right now. Not till I get my head on straight. It all seems surreal. A walking dreamland. I can't be there in the dark," she was panicking. Holding tight to his hands.

"You can stay in Jess's room upstairs, but you have to talk to someone. There's a lady in Hartford I met when I chaperoned April's school trip. She seemed really nice for a psychiatrist," he said, wondering how he'd explain Rory staying here to Lorelai.

"Can you call her tomorrow? Maybe have her meet me in the apartment? I have money, I can pay for house calls." Rory said.

"Yeah, let's get you upstairs to bed," Luke said as the diner phone began to ring.

"I'm guessing it's mom. Can you?" Rory asked as she backed toward the steps. Luke nodded and answered as he watched her flee upstairs. His heart was breaking for her, he wanted to kill something, and his heart was breaking. He could have done without this knowledge, and he knew he'd have to be strong for her. Strong for Lorelai. Strong for Jess.


	7. Chapter 7: Talk, Shred, Read

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Seven: Talk, Shred, Read

Lorelai had been sitting at the table for over an hour. Waiting for Jess. He should be coming down to help Luke in the diner soon, and she wanted to talk to him. Crazy. Three years ago if someone would have told her she'd be waiting to talk to Jess, she would have gone into hysterics. Jess? Talking? Really? It was wrong on so many levels. She could picture herself rolling on the ground laughing at the thought. Not now. He had grown on her a bit, watching him with Doula, visiting once in a while on weekends. He had become an unlikely ally. They shared a bond, forged in fear for Rory. Tearing her napkin into little shreds, she waited. She wondered and she hoped. She hoped Luke had told him something he hadn't told her. It seemed a slim chance, but it was one she planned on exploring.

"Nice napkin mountain," Jess said as he poured her another cup of coffee. Jumping, the sudden movement caused the delicate flakes to scatter like snow across the table.

"You need a bell. Don't scare me like that!" Lorelai said, huffy, out of sorts, having lost the upper hand.

"I'm not a house pet, do you want to order again?" he replied, confused by why she was still there. The empty plates and mound of napkin fluff attested to her having been there a while.

"No. I wanted to talk to you. Could you sit?" she asked, unsure of herself. Not a quip in sight.

"Okay," Jess replied, sitting down and waiting. Lorelai fidgeted, played with her silverware and went back to shredding napkins. After watching for a while without her speaking, Jess pulled a book out of his back pocket and began to read.

"Seriously? You're reading? I'm trying to talk to you, ask you something, and you're reading?" Lorelai ranted. Jess sighed, and looked up from his book.

"Well, considering you weren't actually asking me anything, and although I really like your work with the napkins, it didn't seem like you needed my input. Reading seemed a valid choice. Why don't you ask me whatever it is you want to ask," Jess said, putting his book down. Lorelai looked away, and when his hand edged toward to the book again, she started talking.

"She's not the same, and I know that, I knew she wouldn't be, but there's something more. And Luke knows, but he denies it, and says it will be okay. But I know. I know there's something. She couldn't sleep in the house. She could barely stand to be there. She'd get edgy, and have to take off. She was calmer outside. In the gazebo, she seemed herself. And here. She spent all of her time here. She slept upstairs. Luke said it wasn't me. She said it wasn't me. That it was like a form of claustrophobia. I know you ask about her. I know he keeps you informed. Did he tell you anything?" Jess unclenched his jaw, made a conscious effort to relax his hands. He should have known, but it always took him by surprise when Lorelai mentioned Rory. It took him by surprise and it hurt worse. He didn't know why. The wound was deeper, and took longer to get over. He grabbed a napkin and began twisting it.

"He said she wasn't okay. She had nightmares, was afraid to sleep. He thought she had post traumatic stress disorder. That he had arranged for her to talk to a psychiatrist and it seemed to be helping. That's all he said," Jess replied, only noticing he had taken over napkin shredding duties after he finished speaking. Lorelai nodded.

"A psychiatrist. I'm glad. Glad he arranged it," she said, looking down at her empty fingers. Jess slid a napkin across the table to her, and she took it, grateful for something to do with her hands. Looking out from the kitchen, Luke shook his head. Lorelai and Jess, sitting together, making little mounds of shredded napkins. He didn't even need to ask why.


	8. Chapter 8:Wandering

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Eight: Wandering

The streets of New York inspired wandering, and wandering was something new for her. Samantha, her shrink, was worried about the wandering. It denoted a lack of focus. But really, other than this new penchant for aimless meandering through New York, she was doing better. Over the last year the nightmares had dropped off to once every couple of months, she had reengaged with her family and work. The walking kept her in shape. Life was good. Hell, she had even been dating. Sitting in Central Park, she thought about Michael. She'd met him in her morning coffee shop, and after two weeks of trying to ignore him, she agreed to a dinner date. They'd been dating for two months, but she knew the relationship wasn't going anywhere. Guilt was only one of the reasons it wouldn't last. It was an experiment. He was nice, Dean-like, and her guilt stemmed from using him for sex. To prove she could stand being touched. That she wouldn't panic or freeze. Michael was tender, gentle, and everything worked the way it should. Sighing, she knew it was time to end their relationship. He was getting possessive, attached. Besides, in therapy, she'd admitted she loved Jess, and Samantha was pushing her to end it with Michael. Saying it wasn't fair to use him. But it meant finding a new morning coffee place, and she really loved their muffins. And even though her mom might disagree (they were damn fine muffins) if decent sex wasn't reason enough to stay in a relationship, muffins weren't either. Tilting her face to the sun, Rory continued to bask.

"Hey Mary, heard you were living in the big city. You look cleaner than the last time I saw you," the voice said. Rory didn't bother to open her eyes, only one person called her Mary.

"Not having piss on your pant leg helps. Tristan, when are you going to stop calling me Mary? I'm not a virgin, and I'm not a prostitute, so the name no longer applies." Rory said, glancing over when she felt him sit on her bench. Tristan chuckled in response, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"It's nice to be able to relax. Mary will always apply. You're a Madonna figure. It's not about the innocence. You have this inherent stillness. You… shine from within like a painting, the Madonna with child paintings. And you always look as if you know something important, like the meaning of life."

"Well, I do. It's 42."

"Okay, so maybe you know the questions too," Tristan said, smiling at her Douglas Adams reference.

"I don't know anything, Tristan. Even less since returning from Afghanistan. How do you cope with what you've seen. What you've done? I mean, I'm talking to a psychiatrist, but she's never seen or done anything horrific. How do you put it away?" Rory asked, barely loud enough for Tristan to hear. Sighing, he reviewed what he knew of her last couple of years before responding.

"If we're going to have this conversation, I think I'm going to need something to drink. Preferably something strong," standing, he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. A quick stop at the liquor store later, Rory let Tristan into her apartment.

"Do you want a glass?" Rory asked, setting a bag of chips on the kitchen table. Tristan laughed.

"Seems fitting without, don't you think? We do need some rules though. One- no hook ups. We will not end up in bed together," Tristan said as he opened the tequila. Rory's mouth dropped open, and snapping it shut, she replied.

"Aren't you the poster child for self esteem, I wasn't planning on you ending up in my bed. I take it you're involved with someone?"

"No, I'm not, but this night isn't about connection. Right? So, rules. One- no hook ups. Two- no digging. You're a journalist, so it might be hard for you, but if I tell you something and leave out details, you can't push for them. Okay?" At her nod, he continued. "Take a drink and tell me the worst thing you've done. We'll start there." Rory took a slug of the tequila.

"Worst, thing I've done?"

"Yup, you know it can't be worse than anything I've done, so what were your thoughts in the park?"

"Well, because I existed in their world, people died. I may not have pulled the trigger, but I'm responsible for their deaths," she said passing him the bottle.

"Whose deaths?" Tristan asked, drinking, and handing her the tequila again.

"An interpreter. Would be rapists. A border guard. A guide. The cartel members. Lots of deaths, all because of me." Rory replied.

"Are you responsible for my actions?"

"No, but,"

"No buts. Are you responsible for my actions? The job I decided to take? My career choices?" Tristan asked, keeping his voice conversational. This talk was familiar to him; he'd done it before with team members. Start here, and get into specifics later when the alcohol was working.

"No," Rory replied, clearly wanting to add more. Passing her the bottle after taking a sip himself, he leaned back in his chair and spoke.

"The day we rescued you from the cartel, my team killed thirteen people. Those men did not die because of you. Those men died because of who they were. The choices they made. The life they chose to live. You were incidental."

"How can you say that? I was the reason you were there in the first place."

"No. My job was the reason I was there in the first place. My career choice, my life path. You had nothing to do with it. You were the victim. In the wrong place at the wrong time."

"My choices led me there."

"Yes, but it doesn't mean you're responsible for their choices or mine. They chose their actions. They could have given you the story and sent you on your way. They could've surrendered instead of fighting. You were doing your job and you were the job." Passing the bottle back and forth, the conversation continued late into the night. Each piece of guilt analyzed, picked over and dissected. Each incident resulting in the same conclusion. Nothing happened because of bad decisions on Rory's part. More importantly, she couldn't control the choices other people made, so she wasn't responsible for them, only herself.

The next morning, Rory woke to find fresh coffee in the pot, and the blanket he had used folded on the couch with a note.

_Mary,_

_Thanks for the company yesterday. Once again, without knowing it, you've helped me. Clarified my path, so to speak. Telling you how I cope, helped me make a choice. If that makes any sense. Probably as much sense as you stealing a yacht or dating a Huntzberger. (Seriously? What the hell were you thinking? And yes, I know him and his whole crowd.) So sense in a round-a-bout screwed up way. Hopefully, we will see each other again. At the very least, I expect to be invited to your wedding. Send the invite to my mom and dad's, they'll get it to me. This Jess character seems like a good guy, and I'm sure you'll work things out. My offer stands. I'll be happy to "acquire" him for you if he refuses to talk. Make him a "captive" audience… Some last words of advice (as if six hours of it last night wasn't enough!) Let yourself be happy. LIVE to the fullest. Scare yourself on occasion by taking a chance or two._

_Friends always,_

_Tristan_


	9. Chapter 9: Pushing To Revelation

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Nine: Pushing To Revelation

Tristan wandered around Truncheon, pulling out books, sliding them back. Waiting for the dark haired man to approach. He wasn't sure why he was here. He already knew more about Jess than what Rory had told him. More than Rory knew. Jess had lived a dangerous life, and Tristan dug deep to make sure Jess was out of it. He was satisfied, but he wanted this meeting.

"Can I help you find anything, or are you casing the joint," Jess asked, trying to keep his sarcasm under control. He hated browsers who didn't end up with an armful of books, and this guy had been browsing for almost an hour.

"Casing the joint, or more specifically, you," Tristan replied, smirking.

"Interesting, but I don't swing that way," Jess said, trying to keep his expression blank.

"No, I know you don't," Tristan laughed. "Neither do I, we have a friend in common. Well, I have a friend. I'm not sure what you have yet. One of the reasons I'm here."

"Well, since I'm not dating anyone, I don't think I'm in the 'other guy' position, who's your friend?" Jess asked the blond standing in front of him, looking him over, assessing his clothes. The guy had money. Shit. Narrowing his eyes, he searched his memory comparing it to the blond dick in his head. Coming up blank. It wasn't him. This wasn't about Rory.

"Why aren't you dating anyone?" Tristan asked, "Why haven't you seriously dated anyone in years. Your girls last a couple of months, maybe, and then you send them on their way with an 'I wish it could be different, it's not you, it's me' statement."

"Who the hell are you? Brother to someone I dated? You're pissing me off and I'd like to know who I'm throwing out," Jess said, anger lacing his voice.

"I'm someone's friend, and although it might be fun to put you in your place, I wouldn't recommend getting physical. You're scrappy, you've had a shitty life, spent some time on the streets, and I know you're familiar with how to throw a punch, but I've had years of training. Finely oiled government machine here. So your 'it's me' statements… why? Are you in love with someone? That would be my guess, and I'd like to know if I'm right. It would ease my mind, make me go away faster."

"I'm all for making you go away faster, but I'm curious now as to what you think you know about me. And where you got this information, who's your friend?" Jess asked again, frustrated.

"I've had some research done. I have a nice file full of interviews, info and habits. Beginning with birth. Dad- Jimmy, mom- Liz. I know almost everything, including your time in New York. As a teen and after California. By the way, your mom is clean, no drugs, very seldom if ever drinks. Your sister, Doula, is safe, living an odd life, but safe," Tristan said, still smirking. Jess was tense, soon he'd be angry and then Tristan would know.

"Am I supposed to thank you? Let me try this again. Who. Is. Your. Friend?"

"Tell me why you don't date. Are you still in love with Gilmore comma Lorelai, aka Rory, New York Times reporter, former overseas correspondent? She's the last person you dated for more than two months. A couple of our interviews indicated something happened in 2006 when she came to your open house. Something that sent you into a downward spiral. Is she the one who got away, the one you compare all others to, the one you pine for?"

"None of your damn business. Get the hell out of my building or I'll call the cops," Jess snarled, fists clenched at his sides. Tristan laughed.

"Go ahead. I've got a badge which will send them running," Tristan replied, irritating Jess into a state of fury. Right where Tristan wanted him. "Answer the question and I'll go. Why do you send your dates packing, why are you Mr. One Night Stand Man?"

"Because I love her dammit!" Jess yelled, frustrated. "You're right. I still love Rory."

"Now was that so hard?"

"Who's your friend?" Jess asked, weary of the games.

"Mary." Tristan replied with a smile as he headed to the door. Jess watched him, forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"But I don't know a Mary!" he yelled, as the blond laughed and waved goodbye.


	10. Chapter 10:Mary or a Mary

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Ten: Mary or a Mary

Lorelai drank her coffee sip by sip so she could continue to listen in on Luke and Jess's conversation. They thought she'd left, and it was her plan, until Jess asked Luke if he knew a Mary. Only last week, had she heard the name Mary again. Of course, now Rory reacted to the nickname with affection instead of ranting.

"I don't know, he implied he had my life's story, knew all about Liz, said Doula's safe, living an odd life," Jess said.

"Well, she is living an odd life, but she seems happy. What did he want?" Luke asked again, Jess had ignored the question before.

"He wanted to know why I didn't seriously date anyone. Kept badgering me. I threatened to throw him out, call the cops, but he thought the idea was funny," Jess replied, angry again.

"How'd you get him to leave?" Luke asked.

"I guess I gave him the right answer. I just don't know why it was the right answer," Jess said, turning to see Lorelai smirking at him.

"Were you eavesdropping? Didn't your mother tell you it's rude?" Jess asked, glad he didn't go into any details. Luke knew he loved Rory, but he didn't think Lorelai did, she wouldn't be so nice if she knew.

"Yes, but actions speak louder than words, and I learned from the best. So tell me, book boy, what did this guy look like?" Lorelai asked, holding her cup out for a refill.

"Well dressed, clean cut. Blond with blue eyes."

"What color of blue?" Lorelai interrupted.

"It wasn't the Yale dick," Jess said. "I remember him. Wealth, but different. Looked like he'd get his hands dirty."

"Interesting," Lorelai replied. Luke watched the two of them. It was great to see them interacting, even if they were both hiding something. He waited, Lorelai liked dramatic effect.

"Why?" Jess asked. If he had confirmation the visit was about Rory, it meant something. It meant he could hold on to his dream. Lorelai stood and gathered her things before answering. Luke smiled, she was getting ready to drop her bomb and run.

"Did he look soldierish?"

"Soldierish? Not sure if soldierish is an actual description. He implied he was soldierish," Jess answered.

"I don't know him," she said, watching Jess look down, his shoulders slump. "But I know of someone, and I know a Mary."

"You know of someone, and you know Mary. Who's Mary?" Jess asked. No-one else he asked even knew a Mary.

"Not Mary, a Mary. There's a difference, and it's still the Virgin Mary. Even if it isn't precisely accurate, she isn't Mary Magdalene either. And someone, well someone is the person we owe for her life in Mexico," Lorelai said, before walking out the door. She knew Rory had feelings for Jess, and needed at the very least, closure. But she hoped if they were meant to be together it didn't take forever to get there. Somebody in this damn town should have their happy ending. Of course, neither Rory nor Jess lived in town anymore. Maybe it's the town. Tossing her cup in the trash, she put on a fake smile and greeted her friends and neighbors along the way home.

Back in the diner, Luke turned to look at Jess who was wielding a cleaning towel as if he was trying to take the varnish off the tables. He wanted to ask, but didn't want to get his head snapped off. Jess glanced up and saw Luke staring. Sighing, he tossed the rag down and ran his fingers through his hair.

"You made it stand on end," Luke said.

"What?" Jess replied. Confused.

"Your hair, it's sticking up now. So, I take it Mary might be Rory? What does it mean?"

"Maybe, it would make sense since he left."

"After you told him why you didn't date?" Luke asked.

"Yeah. I don't know what it means, I'm heading back to Philly." Jess said, going upstairs. Luke nodded. He knew what it meant. It meant Jess had hope.


	11. Chapter 11:Where's My Soundboard?

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Eleven: Where's My Soundboard?

Rory tossed her purse onto the couch, poured herself a glass of wine and sat at her desk to edit the newest manuscript on her workload. She only had a short time before getting ready for yet another New York Times' social event of the year. She loved spending a half an hour here, an hour there with a draft, breaking up sessions to keep fresh. Editing combined two things she enjoyed, literature and making a piece of writing better. Since returning from Afghanistan, she'd been living two lives. Lorelai Gilmore- reporter for the New York Times, and Rory Gilmore- editor. Of the two, she preferred editing, but quitting her job? Admitting she didn't want to be a journalist? A little harder to do. She had made a promise after talking to Tristan last year. She had promised herself she would live with no regrets. She would fix what she could, and live the life she wanted. After a long evening expressing her feelings, she and her dad's relationship was comfortable and important to them both. She'd formed a sisterhood with Gigi, they texted daily and talked on the phone at least once a week, bonding over Gigi's love of shopping and movies. In the last two years, she had worked through her issues with Samantha, and although she had her number on speed dial, she no longer saw her professionally.

There were two things left to fix. Her dissatisfaction with her chosen career, and it had taken her some time to figure out what she enjoyed doing, what she wanted to do. And the Jess issue.

Shit.

Maybe she shouldn't have saved the hardest for last. Fixing the career would be simple. She needed to give her notice, and start applying places. Therein lay the problem. Was she bold enough to move to Philadelphia without contacting Jess first? She knew from his website, and Luke, he was single. She knew she hurt him, used him, and chose others over him again and again. She knew she had to make the first move. And having Tristan kidnap him probably wasn't the way to go.

Shit.

She needed a soundboard. Grabbing her phone, she dialed.

"Hey mom, I need to bounce something off you. I wish you'd answer the phone. Where are you? I'm officially worried. Call me, or I'm sending Grandma to see you." This Luke/Lorelai inaction was getting out of hand. They had restarted their relationship as friends at the going away party Luke arranged, taking it slow. But Luke hadn't asked Lorelai to marry him, and Lorelai was pulling away, not only from Luke, but from everyone. Patty said she was reverting into the person she'd become when Rory lived with her Grandparents. A replica of who Lorelai thought she should be. It made Rory sad to know during the dark days she was responsible for her mother spending so much time acting. Faking her life, as if everything was okay. The way Lorelai was now. There had to be something she could do. Force the issue somehow.

"Lane? Hey it's Rory. I really need to talk to someone. Call me?"

Why was no one around?

"Paris, Hi! Thank God you're home. I need to know how to fix things with Jess."

"Jess? The guy you've been mourning since high school? Gilmore, get a grip. You have to solve this one yourself. Have you applied at publishing houses yet? Quit the job you no longer enjoy? You can see it in your writing, you know. Hell, send him your resume. It would get his attention. Figure yourself out, Rory. If I can do it, you can. Make a pro-con list," Paris replied before hanging up. Crap. Now it was time to get ready to go, and nothing was solved. Maybe she should combine the problems. As she changed into her cocktail dress, she had the beginnings of an idea.


	12. Chapter 12: Six Pros, Four Cons

**Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.**

Chapter Twelve: Six Pros, Four Cons

Hate. I hate and despise these work social commitments, Rory thought as she took another sip from a horrible martini. Parties the Times hosted reminded her of DAR events, with tired menus, bad alcohol and boring music. Casting her gaze around the room, she saw a face she hadn't seen in four years. Smiling, she made her way to her old on-line news boss.

"Rory Gilmore! How's the big time treating you? Don't suppose you miss riding a bus?"

"Why? You need someone? I'll do it. When and for how long?"

"Seriously? You'd consider it? Spill Gilmore," he said, after picking his jaw up off the floor.

"I guess I'm bored. I don't want to go back overseas, I did it for two years, but this isn't enough anymore," she replied gesturing with her drink to the room around her.

"Didn't you get a job offer from the Washington Post, to head their political beat?" he asked.

"Hmmm, flattering, but just a change of scenery. No, I'm thinking about a complete career switch. I've been free-lance editing for a friend in publishing. I like it. I guess I need to decide if editing will be enough for me. Or maybe I should try my hand at running a small paper somewhere. Relive my Yale Daily News days. So yeah, I'd go on the campaign bus for you. Buy some time to figure it out. There's nothing like the monotony of the highway to make you think. As long as it's Obama I'm following. I could do a four years later retrospective, concentrating on the differences between then and now. Plus, I can edit from anywhere, and my lease is up at the end of the month, so the timing is perfect."

"Well, I sure as hell am not going to say no to a New York Times quality journalist writing for my on-line news site! How much notice do you have to give? Pay is what it was before, and I'd need you through the election."

"Still sounds good, I'll give the standard two weeks, but then I'll need to move my stuff to my mom's. Where will the bus be in three?" Rory asked, as her old boss pulled out his smart phone.

"Three weeks? In three weeks the campaign will be in Philly. Want to meet the bus there?" he replied, dazed at the idea of snagging Rory Gilmore, award winning reporter.

"It's like a sign from the gods, so yeah. I'll be there," Rory replied. This would work. She could make contact by enlisting Jess's help with Luke before settling on a place to live.

An exchange of information, and a cab ride later, Rory was happy to be in her apartment. She curled up on the couch, notebook in hand and followed Paris's instructions.

Pros-

Leaving the Times- in a rut, bored

Possibly fixing the Luke/Lorelai situation

Buying time to figure out where she wanted to live- Philly? Stars Hollow?

Buying time to figure out what she wanted to do with her life-editing vs reporting, both?

Making contact with Jess

Possibility of making it work with Jess- at least knowing if it doesn't

Cons-

It not working with Jess

Leaving the Times- money, prestige

Living out of a suitcase again

Getting back on the bus

The pros win, and pro/con lists never lie. Time to start the real lists. Lists for packing, moving and turning off her utilities. Lists with what to say to Jess. She'd have to be brave. Bluffing her way past the North Korean border guards brave. The trick was going to be honesty. She could do it. She wasn't the same little girl who hid from truth anymore, especially not from herself. Telling Jess the truth about her feelings was important. Whether he gave the possibility of a relationship another shot or not. It wasn't too late. It couldn't be too late. Chewing on the end of her pencil, she smiled.

At the very least, she knew where she was going now. In three weeks, she was going to Philly.

**A/N- I hope you enjoyed this piece. Remember to review, even when the writing is done, reading a review and knowing someone has read your work is uplifting. The next story in the series is Getting Back on The Bus.**


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